There are no pictures of Billy. He was easily the most reserved student in the class, keeping mostly to himself except during partner exercises. On occasion, someone would take photos of the class for future use in brochures, websites, etc. Billy was adept at ensuring he was off to the side, or strategically placed behind someone larger than him.
When asked why he was always hiding from the camera, Billy would look at the ground and say something cryptic like, “I just want to learn” or “I’m not here to be seen”. He never said it with irritation, but it was a noticable attitude. Most other students were more than happy to please the teacher by doing their best to pose well for a good picture. And many liked being noticed and possibly immortalized on a brochure.
There were other quirks in his learning process. Notetaking was a singularly disruptive one. The end of a lesson would be reached but before the students could assemble for the next one, there was a delay while Billy scribbled away in his notebook, often with his other hand holding a forefinger to everyone. “Just a sec”, he’d say. It would usually be just a sec, but it still annoyed others who were ready for the next lesson.
One of the lessons everyone was taught was a way to examine the value of an exercise, technique, or principle. The method became known as the Three Questions. 1. What is this supposed to do? 2. How does it do it? 3. How do I train it? Students were told repeatedly that their instructor should be able to answer all three. If not, he/she would be expected to find out an answer in time for the next class.
Billy took the Three Questions to heart as would be expected of a devoted notetaker. He would ask seemingly frivolous questions like, “what part of the heel should touch the ground when stepping to generate power?” The heel…seriously! Yet there was an answer to that question that made sense and Billy applied the answer to his practice. Or he asked, “Why should I practice Standing? What use is it in a fight?” This almost came across as impertinent, but his overall studious and inquisitive nature shone through all these questions and they never seemed rude or beligerent.
The reason for all this was to alleviate Billy’s doubts about what he was learning. There are so many “masters” all vying for attention, especially online, that the only way for a serious student to separate the good from bad teachers was to record as much of the information as possible and ask a lot of questions. And Billy was serious. He wanted to make the best possible use of his time in and outside of classes while always remaning purposeful in his efforts.
He was less interested in socializing than learning, asking rather than believing, examining rather than blindly repeating. If this made him an oddball in class, so be it. He knew that only he could integrate the internal arts principles into his mind and body, no one else. If he was unclear about something and didn’t ask for clarification, he ran the risk of getting something wrong and carrying that error into later practices. This would be like building a house on faulty foundation.
So while hiding from the camera, he was practicing. While writing down as many details about a lesson as possible, he was practicing. While questioning almost everything he heard and saw, he was practicing.
How skillful do you think Billy became?